Definitions
by Fuujin Kishukaze
Summary: A companion fic to my 'Quicksilver Contemplation'; Bobby and Darien go on a mission which causes Fawkes to go QSM and then regret it later


Author's Note: I wrote this as sort of a companion story to 'Quicksilver Contemplation' after an interesting conversation with a fellow fanfic author. So what does that mean? Well... actually, it means one of three things. The first being that I have to thank Gorgolo Chick for the constructive criticism that lead to this fic. And second, I suggest that you read the companion fic sometime before or after you read this one. The third, I really don't like the way the end of this fic turned out... but... ::shrugs:: Anyway... read, review, and enjoy.   
Timeline: Post 'Germ Theory', pre 'Possessed'.  
  
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[ A nameless teenage poet once said that, "Anything goes once you've lost everything within, so lie to yourself and pretend to be sane." And more and more I wonder if that's exactly what I'm doing - pretending to be sane - after all, I've lost everything since Kevin died. Or is there such a thing as sanity in the first place? ]  
  
*  
  
Heavy footfalls resounded throughout the hallway that lead to the Keep as one Darien Fawkes dashed in its direction. Stopping just outside the heavy metal door, the youthful man pushed the button that opened them and stepped inside. For a moment afterward, he stood still as the smell of rubbing alcohol and counteragent washed over him.  
  
"Hey Keepie... me and Hobbes are heading out, and I was wondering... " The dark haired male paused, watching intently as his Keeper didn't even seem to acknowledge his presence. Arching an eyebrow in curiosity, he took a tentative step in the blonde-haired woman's direction. "Uh, Claire? Are you ok?"  
  
"I'm fine," the woman in question responded curtly, her eyes still fixed on the computer screen in front of her. "Look, I'm very busy Darien, so just tell me what you need and save us both the trouble."  
  
His confusion melting into a look of mild amusement, Fawkes moved so he could read the glowing screen from over Claire's shoulder. "Uh huh... You're still sore about that test tube thing, aren't you?" A week ago, he had accidentally broken test tube on the table near the chair he received his counteragent shots in. Claire had been less than pleased, and Darien had the feeling she was still upset about it. After all, nothing was more important than her beloved lab equipment.  
  
"No, Darien," the lab-coat clad woman responded her eyes still on her computer's screen.  
  
"Well Keep, something's bugging you," he pointed out, pausing for a moment to point at the screen, "cause, uh, looks like you're done with that." Claire merely sighed at this, and Fawkes smiled knowingly. "Yeah... yeah... I was right. You're mad about the lab equipment I broke the other day."  
  
"No, Darien," Claire repeated, this time spinning her chair around so she could stare down her kept. "I'm angry because you and Bobby trashed Eberts' filing room. So now that poor sweetheart has to go back and fix it all, and hope the Official doesn't find out."  
  
For a moment there was silence, and Darien offered his doctor a small smile as he remember what he and Hobbes had done less than an hour ago. He and his bald-headed partner had quicksilvered and snuck into the accounting room. Then, the pair had proceeded to refile just about every manila envelope in the place as they saw fit, before sneaking back out. It was malicious, but it would have been perfect had it not been for the fact that the quicksilver never stuck to anything very long after Fawkes stopped touching it. Well... when he had let go of Bobby to start the fun, Hobbes' quicksilver cover had obviously flaked off. That's how the Fat Man's lackey had managed to pin this one on them... and to make matters worse, it hadn't lightened him up like they had hoped. Instead, Eberts had done just the opposite in fact, diving into the files to fix them like there was no tomorrow. And apparently, he had found the time to tell Claire as well.  
  
"Look, Keep... I'm sorry."  
  
"I doubt it."  
  
Now Fawkes got defensive. "Hey, it was just a joke Claire... we didn't mean any harm."  
  
"Joke or not, it was cruel. You and Bobby should have realized that." Darien just rolled his eyes at this, and that seemed to make the blonde-haired woman all the more irritated. Standing up, she attempted to curb her rage by doing random tasks around her workspace. "Honestly, Darien... what would Kevin think?" she asked, reaching for a stack of papers on her desk.  
  
"Ok why is it that whenever you want to hit me with a guilt trip, you bring up my brother?" The tall male demanded as he flopped down into his counteragent chair.  
  
"Because I doubt that he would be pleased with your actions." Taking the stack of papers over to a filing cabinet in the corner, she stuffed them inside and shot a heated glance in the spiky-haired male's direction.  
  
And the look was returned, Darien's chocolate gaze narrowing on his keeper's face. "And what the hell would you know? Who's related to him - me or you?"  
  
Claire sighed vaguely, as her angry expression melted to one of sympathy. Darien was right of course; she had no right to presume she knew his brother better than he did... even if there was some chemistry between Kevin and her in years previous. "I'm sorry. I know that you were closer to Kevin then I was, Darien. But - "  
  
Fawkes cut her off sharply. "But nothing," he growled, sliding out of his chair with ease. Then, the dark-haired man turned, and skulked out of the Keep. And as he walked down the hallway, a curious eye fell on the snake tattoo on his wrist and Fawkes sighed. Eight red. That meant he was entering the first stages of Quicksilver Madness, and probably explained why he had snapped at Claire over something as simple as his brother. Heaving another sigh, this one heavier than the first, he glanced back at the doors to the Keep. For a moment, he considered going back in and apologizing to his keeper, then begging for a shot, but he decided against it. They both needed time to cool down... and besides, if he didn't go invisible - which he wasn't planning on doing - he'd be fine.  
  
Just peachy.  
  
*  
  
"Just peachy, Fawkes. Real freakin' great."  
  
"Hobbes," the lanky male drawled, looking up at his partner slowly, "for the last time, I didn't get the shot because I didn't think I'd need it."  
  
The shorter of the two men nodded as though he had expected that answer, and Darien wouldn't have been surprised if he had. After all, he had been telling his paranoid partner that for the last five or so minutes, as the pair watched the bad guys close in on them, effectively trapping the two agents. "Bobby Hobbes could have told you that you needed the shot, my friend. Why? Because sneaking in always involves sneaking out."  
  
"Starsky and Hutch did it without quicksilver."  
  
For a moment Hobbes was silent and then finally he replied. "When you're right, you're right... and I think I've got a plan. Just leave it to me to save your seventeen million dollar punk ass."  
  
Fawkes shrugged, watching as their enemies drew ever nearer. "Well, I'm ready whenever you are, Hobbesy man... but I don't think the bad guys will be quite as nice about it."  
  
"Yeah, yeah... I'm getting there." Slipping the gun in the holster at his side, the bald-headed man sighed faintly and then stood, moving to stand in plain sight. Then, waving one arm wildly in the air, the short bald man cried, "Yo, you!"  
  
One of the closest of the men who had been advancing on them turned sharply, his machine gun trained on Hobbes chest. "Don't move," he demanded, waving his free hand towards his companions... and within a few seconds, half a dozen guns were pointed in the bald-headed man's direction. "Hands in the air," the man who's attention Hobbes had originally gotten ordered and he did as he was told, counting on his own capture to get the armed men away from Fawkes.  
  
And the taller of the two agents must have sensed this because before Hobbes knew it, there was a hand around his ankle and something around freezing was creeping up his leg. Cursing as it coated his body and sealed with a barely audible pop, Hobbes felt his partner stand up, using him as a brace. Finally, Fawkes' hand came to rest on his shoulder, and the taller man whispered into his partner's ear, "You call that a plan?"  
  
Hobbes moved towards the door, watching in grayscale vision as his opponents stared dumbly at the spot he and Fawkes had been in. No sense in sticking around. And only once they were outside, and the quicksilver had flaked away did he speak. "Like you had a better one, Mr. Cellophane Wrap..." Shooting a glance back at his partner, he frowned as he saw the all too familiar eyes that signaled the start of Quicksilver Madness. Great. This was getting better every moment.  
  
"I'm fighting it Hobbes," Fawkes rasped, reading the expression on his partner's face as he struggled with his demons, "but we'd better get back to the Keep quick."  
  
"One step ahead of you, my friend. And I think we left that straightjacket from last time in Golda."  
  
"Good."   
  
*  
  
  
"Yes, Darien?"  
  
"Uh," Fawkes began, before lapsing back into silence. He had been standing in the doorway to the Keep for a good two or three minutes after his counteragent shot and he had just been about to leave, but somehow Claire had sensed his presence. And now he was stuck on the spot. "Look, I was wondering if you could give me one of your techno-babble explanations on exactly what the quicksilver in the thing in my head does to me."  
  
The blonde-haired woman looked confused for a moment, wondering just what prompted the question, but she made an attempt to answer anyway. "Well, Darien, it degrades your higher brain functions slowly. And as you've probably noticed, that causes you to slip into insanity."  
  
Fawkes frowned deeply, still not satisfied with what his Keeper had given him. Sliding back into the chair he had just gotten out of, the lanky male leaned his head back and was thoughtful for a moment. Then finally he said, "Yeah, I know that Keepie, but what does that mean? What are higher brain functions? What do they do?"  
  
"Well Darien, higher brain functions are mainly your patterns of rational though... your system of right and wrong."  
  
"Is that all?"  
  
A flicker of a scowl touched Claire's features. "It also removes your inhibitions... the things that keep you from doing and saying things that most people wouldn't normally say... sort of like a drug. Or alcohol."  
  
"Does that mean that whatever I say or do when I'm red-eyes is the truth that I won't fess up to when I'm sane?"   
  
"You could put it that way..." the lab-coat clad woman replied, adding almost as an afterthought, "Why?" Deafening silence followed, and then finally Claire sighed faintly and shook her head. "If this is about you said earlier, don't worry about it. I realize I mispronounce your name, and that it must make you rather mad. And I'm sure it didn't help that you were Quicksilver Mad at the time."   
  
"Yeah, whatever..." he replied, standing slowly. "I'm gonna go find Hobbes - see you in a week for another shot."  
  
*  
  
"C'mmon... you can tell Bobby Hobbes."  
  
Fawkes sighed inwardly, running an uncertain hand through his hair. Confessions weren't something that he was particularly good at, and as an ex-thief he wasn't exactly keen on telling Hobbes what had happen in the keep earlier that afternoon during his bout of madness. There were simply too many 'what-ifs' for him. Like what if he went Quicksilver Mad - however distant that time might be from the present - and he said something to his partner that he didn't mean... or at least he thought he didn't mean? And what if, after that, Hobbes bailed on him knowing that what he said in his fits of Quicksilver Madness was the truth... Turned him away when he needed help, personal or otherwise?  
  
But somehow, the middle-aged man on the other side of the table seemed to sense this doubt in his partner. "Look, my friend, I promise I won't back out on you. I don't do that."   
  
"Alright," Fawkes murmured finally, slipping a cool face on. "When I was out of it, I said some things to the Keeper that surprised even me... I - we had an argument earlier about Kevin... but even that wouldn't make me hate her as much as I did today... Hate her enough to say the things I've said..."  
  
"What makes you think you hate her? Maybe the gland was doing the talking."  
  
The dark-haired male shook his head, his near black eyes conveying a sense of despair. "It wasn't. I asked the Keeper about it afterwards, and she said that the quicksilver only wrecks my ability to control what I say... It can't change what's in my heart, Hobbes."  
  
"No, but it can change your perception of what's in your heart, my friend."  
  
Confusion touched Fawkes' features. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I've seen you do the red-eyed rumba more times that I can count," Hobbes began, arching his eyebrows as he struggled to find words that made sense, "and every time you've gone wacko, you've focused on something that happened that day. And whoever did that something to you was the one you targeted your not-so-niceness on."  
  
"Yeah, and?"  
  
"And so I don't think that Keepie's right. Sure, it fouls up your sense of right and wrong... but you said it yourself - it can't change what's in your heart. Why? Because the quicksilver cuckoo only hurts your mind. So, I'm saying that the insanity takes whatever effected you most that day and screws with what you think of it. Like today... you had an argument with Claire, and when you went off the deep-end, your head made it a hundred times worse."  
  
"So are you saying that you don't think I really mean what I say?" Fawkes asked; he was sure that's what his bald-headed partner was playing at, but he needed to hear it straight out from Hobbes.  
  
"Yeah. It's not you talking - it's the quicksilver. It has to be, cause I know my partner, and I know you wouldn't say whatever you did to Claire... consciously or unconsciously."  
  
A weak smile graced Darien's lips. "Thanks Hobbes. And thanks for the coffee." Standing up from the cheap cafe chair sharply, Fawkes turned and left before his partner could say any more, leaving his coffee completely untouched.  
  
*  
  
You know, it's almost funny. Both the Keeper and the Fat Man have been through what I have to go through once a week or so - you know quicksiler madness? - and yet neither of them seem to understand my pain. If they did, they would have been able to tell me the real way that my insanity works... well the Keeper at least. I mean, they both went through it that time Keepie thought she could control the bug I had. But they can't.  
  
And you know what makes this even weirder? The only person who even halfway understands me is the one person in the Agency who didn't fall victim to that weird incident. Bobby Hobbes. Like today, he comforted me... and to tell you the truth, I think he's right when it comes to his theory of how the quicksilver cuckoo works. But then again, I guess it's not so strange that Hobbes understands me after all. Why?   
  
Because he lives his own version of the madness every day. 


End file.
